


His Gold Complexion

by ekphrastic



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Complicated Relationships, Doctor/Patient, Dreams and Nightmares, M/M, Personal Growth, Post-Canon Cardassia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-03 05:36:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11525628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ekphrastic/pseuds/ekphrastic
Summary: The Dominion War is over and Cardassia and her people meet the future with fresh resolve. But, not so for Elim Garak. How do you look forward when your greatest love is behind you?





	1. Chapter 1

On Cardassia Prime, indeed, throughout the Cardassian Union, the past and the future had always been at odds. Tradition and the twin forces of change and progress reacted bitterly and explosively against one another. This tension, this sensation of push and pull, was more acutely felt in the wake of the Dominion War and remained especially poignant in the mind of Elim Garak.  
  
Most days Garak waged a secret war within himself as the past and the future threatened to tear him asunder. Even as progress sprang up, as palpable as the reconstruction, the new and beautiful buildings, that represented it, the past beckoned him backward, so inviting and warm and familiar, always with him - tender memories, bewitching phantoms.  
  
The Order - but, no, he was free now. And here was Cardassia, free as well, finally free. Though, she, so much like him, could never have hoped for freedom alone. But, he was alone. On Cardassia, he was alone.  
  
Deep Space Nine - but, oh, he was home now. And, wasn't that what he had wanted so desperately?  
  
The Dominion War - but, it was now long finished, over a year gone. Cardassia had welcomed him back. And yet, he could not look forward, not wholly nor sincerely. He shivered.  
  
For the previous several days and most intensely in the late afternoon before he began his short walk home from Cardassia City's Ministerial building, Elim Garak had been feeling unbearably cold. And, lately, not simply because of his gloomy thoughts. Though loathe to acknowledge it, he knew the only possibility for this unpleasant sensation in the middle of the hot Cardassian summer was that his long hours were at last catching up with him and that he was taking ill.  
  
The slight cough that had hounded him over the past half-week had grown in strength, now a stubborn full-fledged beast struggling against the cage of his ribs. He crossed his arms tightly across his chest as he walked the modest distance from the city center to his apartment, the shudder persisting up and down his spine as he winced at the unwelcome chill.  
  
_No matter_ , he assured himself when he reached his front door, keying in the security combination with fingers that, to his immense frustration, were shaking and weak, _this will pass._  
  
As he crossed the threshold, the sentence turned over and over in his mind, an assurance he had intoned silently to himself so many times in the year and a half since he had left Deep Space Nine. This will pass, this will pass. At times, he believed the affirmations to be true, often, undeniably, they were. However, still other times, the mantra failed him - visions that would not abate, memories that would not fade away and he longed fleetingly for his long-gone implant. His eyes would snap shut at the agony of a particular recollection or feeling, an ache springing up in his chest that he could hardly bear. And the only remedy, the only numbing agent he had was his work.  
  
His work of late, though growing just a bit more focused each day, each week, each month, as his beloved Cardassia regained her former strength, proved not enough to banish the memories entirely. And at times, when the moons were high and the air in his office was still and pricklingly cool, even that all-important work was a poor balm for the wounds he had retreated to Cardassia to mend.  
  
He sat heavily at the small kitchen table - one of several simple furnishings in his modest flat, plain and without ornament - and heaved a sigh that crackled with the tightness in his throat. Looking around the home he had constructed for himself, with so few touches of familiarity, of anything welcoming, he huffed bitterly. He wished desperately for a feeling of contentment, of peace, but found, while he deeply valued his work, while he was heartened immensely by Cardassia's progress in the wake of the Dominion War, by the maturing democracy and by the indisputable good he had done, that when he was not working, he felt little in the way of happiness.  
  
Those moments when he would allow himself to admit that, on whatever level of consciousness, he was running from something still, were bitter medicine indeed.  
  
Garak's head sank heavily into his hands, a steady pounding escalating an unwelcome march behind his temples. After a quiet hour, he stood unsteadily and meandered weakly toward his bedroom, neglecting even a morsel of dinner, _That’s more than enough self-indulgent pity, Elim. Sleep, and this will pass._  


\--

In the night, when the persistent, scraping cough rattled him awake, _This will pass._ When the morning came too quickly and another fit of coughing reduced him to spitting blood into the otherwise pristine sink of his washroom, _This will pass._ When he wiped his bloodied mouth and surveyed his haggard reflection, the pale grey circles beneath his eyes, _This will pass._ When he was so sickened and weak that he could hardly manage a quarter of his lunch in the Ministry's dining hall, _This will pass._ When he stumbled hastily back to his office, his work strewn in uncharacteristic disarray about him, _This will pass._

But it did not. Despite the refrain in his mind, his body seemed willfully ignorant of it and not at all compliant. By the late afternoon, he was being escorted home, much to his chagrin, shivering and feverish, by his dutiful assistant, her brow ridges knitted in concern.

"Minister, perhaps you ought to call a doctor. I do not think your symptoms are as mild as you insist," she intoned, her posture tight, as if concerned the suggestion would offend.

Garak waved a dismissive hand, though his eyes were heavy-lidded and his reply a veritable croak, "No need, Anira, I'm quite certain I'll be fine in a day. Perhaps two. In the meantime, I appreciate your discretion in assuring that the Ministry office does not take too much interest in my absence. I will of course, be taking care to check my messages while at home recuperating."

The younger woman nodded, though her body language betrayed her skepticism at the Minister's convictions. Still she inclined her head respectfully as Garak retreated inside, "Be well, then, Minister Garak." And there was a worried emphasis to the sentiment as she turned to make her way back to the City center.

Later that evening, unable to eat or sleep or even much think, Garak lay awake shivering beneath the several heavy blankets he had wrapped about himself. Nothing seemed to abate the relentless chill the fever had brought with it, and in the moments of clarity that broke through the fevered haze, Garak wondered with interest that he could not recall any illness he had previously endured feeling quite like this one. Were he not so weak, the thought might have given him occasion to wonder after his diagnosis.  
  
However, as he coughed and trembled intermittently, the occasional sight of the untouched water on his bedside table as he tossed and turned causing him to grimace and touch his throat, he was unable to devote much useful thought to his clever analyses.


	2. Chapter 2

Garak had, for almost as long as he remembered, been an incredibly poor sleeper, whether due to nightmares or waking unquiet thought. In illness, this trait only seemed to worsen and he spent much of the night tossing and turning fitfully, miserable and chilled.

Around dawn, he managed to sleep for a stretch of an hour or two before his PADD shrilled several alerts. He pressed a hand to his temple, beseeching the throbbing to end, but achieving no relief in the gesture. When he opened his eyes, his vision was an unsettling sort of tunnel, quivering at the edges and blurred, and he inhaled sharply in shock, was dizzied and disoriented.

When after a few measured breaths he had restored some equilibrium, he reached for the PADD and found he could barely read it. The flurry of dutiful and doubtless informative messages from his assistant was a painful haze of blurred language and light. Thoroughly nauseated after mere moments, he let the PADD drop with a painful, hollow thud to his chest, to slide untouched down his ribs and onto the mattress. A pitiable, strangled noise escaped him and he was ashamed and bitter at his weakness.

His best efforts to drink, to bathe, to eat, or even to check his PADD throughout the remainder of the morning miserably failed and eventually he had tired himself so horribly with the trying that he was forced to sit, knees drawn up against his chest, still wearing the previous day's clothes in the middle of his bedroom floor. His breath came rough and rapid and his thoughts were racing, frenzied and beyond his control.

The well-meaning suggestion of his assistant had brought unwelcome regrets to the forefront of his mind and, as he sat gathering the energy to return to bed, to hide beneath the quilts, the longing for a certain doctor would not leave him. Garak trembled fiercely, his eyes squeezed tightly shut against the dizziness, against the chill and the nausea and the fatigue - against the ferocious and unexpected wave of regret that pressed on his chest as much or more than the illness.

_This will…_ He swore severely, utterly helpless, and completely devoid of the energy to lie to himself, no matter how desperately he wished to do so.

When evening came, Garak woke from a daze on the cold ground but was finally able to stand, although shakily and briefly, and to stagger back to his bed, where he collapsed heavily onto its edge, just shy of reuniting with the floor. He groaned, grasped for his PADD and fired off a hastily typed and immediately regretted communique to Anira before sinking back onto his pillow with a moan.

Any attempt to draw in a deep breath proved immensely painful, his neck and throat screaming and his lungs protesting with a deep, shuddering coughing fit. Stars burst behind his eyelids and he was concerned for a moment that he might faint.

_This will pass,_ he thought desperately, fleetingly, completely unconvinced. The fit did relent, however, leaving Garak still conscious, though shaken and concerned that the sickness seemed to so stubbornly be progressing rather than abating. As he sank back against his headboard, he closed his eyes, feeling so very spent and alone and as he slipped into fitful sleep, so cold beneath the many blankets, he could not stop himself from dreaming of Julian Bashir.  


\--

_Elim Garak knows unquestionably that he is dreaming, recognizes the sensation of floating above and almost outside of a memory, watching their last night together before the war. Both spectator and player, he feels sick at the familiarity, at knowing by rote what is to come._

_The afterglow fades prematurely and Julian looks worn and preoccupied. He rises stiffly and showers and Garak is pretending to read, his fingers tapping anxiously on the screen he is clutching just a bit over-firmly. His knuckles are stiff and deep grey._

_When Julian returns to bed, he does not look refreshed, folds his hands beneath his head on the pillow and sighs heavily toward the ceiling._

_The dream Garak draws a rattling breath, sets aside his book, and folds his hands tightly, and from above and outside of himself, Garak pleads desperately to be released and to be allowed to turn away. But he is familiar with the routine. He knows he will be forced to watch until it is through, a torture more painful and exacting than anything the Order have ever taught him to employ or trained him to endure._

_"I think it would be best for us both if this were the last time we... met this way," his own voice is cool, cruel in his memory. Was he really so cold to Julian that night?_

_Julian's hitherto stoic expression falters and falls, but his dark eyes flash anger as he continues to stare at the ceiling. "Is that so?"_

_The dream Garak stands and begins to dress, smoothing his hair as he lectures, the tone of his voice and the words of his reasons are precise and the lies flow so easily. "Our terms were more than clear, I think you'll agree."_

_"Nothing is ever clear with you, Garak!" Julian retorts, pushing upright, his shoulders tight as he bends to pull on a pair of soft pants._

_Garak's heart twinges. Even in dreams, he remembers stitching the carefully measured pieces of fabric. Presenting the finished gift to Julian one evening, and the sunshine in the doctor's eyes. 'They're perfect, Garak,' he had exclaimed, wide-eyed and flushed before kissing him. 'Thank you.'_

How could you bear this, Elim?

_His dream self is so infuriatingly calm, so smug. He begrudges the phantom-him the pain he now endures. He wants to protest but he knows there will be no sound._

Meanwhile, Julian's voice is rising.

_The dream Garak has raised his hands, trying to hush the younger man, but the effect is just the opposite._

This will pass.

_And Garak is hovering just without and is desperate for mercy. But he cannot free himself._

But, gods, I am sorry, Julian. I am so wretchedly sorry.

_And the memory-Garak stands calmly, weathering each ebbing volley of harsh words, knowing they are deserved. Knowing what he is breaking, and the Garak watching knows it too, and more fully. And the moment, in dream or in memory or in conscious thought, is never any easier to relive._

_The nightmare drags on and the dream Garak remains a picture of outward calm though the true Garak remembers the bracing pain of that night, how his chest burned with the anguish of it, and the dream Julian, a flurry of words and gestures and reasons and hurt, just as he was on that night, and finally--_

_"Just go, then." Julian's head is in his hands, elbows on his knees and the Garak within and without the dream is desperately longing to touch him._

Please understand, Julian. Forgive me. Please.

_And suddenly Garak is alone in his old room in the Habitat Ring. There is no dream Garak, no Julian, and the empty room is choking the air from his lungs._

_The walls spin flashes of memory and images, determined to destroy him entirely._

_Terek Nor, exile. The glimmer of the wormhole._

_Deep Space Nine and Quark's and the Replimat. And Julian._

_Miles O'Brien, rolling his eyes; and Sisko's laughter, warm and welcoming. Jadzia and Worf. Kira, Odo, brief sparks, all. And Julian._

_There is Ezri, so bright and so kind. How he wishes he could begrudge Julian choosing her, how he longs to hate her. But he knows he cannot and that he never will. And Julian._  
  
_The Dominion War whirls around him in jagged, shards. Biting loss, and Cardassia so utterly broken. And Julian._

_Words and anxious feelings, lies woven between frightening truths and regrets. And Julian._

_Julian._

_Dark, affectionate eyes and the phantom touch of warm, bronze skin._

_Always Julian and that damned, wretched, inadequate goodbye._

_The doctor's face, the crooked smile and sincere gaze, the kindness and the pain behind Julian's expression, the relentless, earnest hope, "I'm sure we'll see each other again."_

_And then his own voice, "I'd like to think so." Gods, how Garak knows he means it, how that thought sustains him in the waking world, "But one can never say. We live in uncertain times." His own words fade into the air, drowned out by a violent rush of wind._

_Like a sudden storm all around him, there are the letters._

_'How is the infirmary these days?'_ Are you well, Julian?

_'And how are the O'Brien's? Have you had occasion to visit them? I imagine Molly must be quite tall by now.'_ Are you happy?

_'What has changed on the station?'_ Do you ever think of me when you are holding Ezri in the dark?

_'I enjoyed your book recommendation.'_ I should have told you that I loved you. I should tell you that I love you still.

_'Though, and I am sure you are not surprised, I must raise a disagreement about your interpretation of the final chapter…'_ My days feel empty without you - our lunches, without those nights we would fall into bed, arguing and fucking. Ah, but it was so much more than that, wasn't it? I can still taste the smugness on your lips. Gods, my chest aches, Julian. I can still feel you in my arms.

_'Cardassia is recovering, it is slow and it is painful. I know my world will never be the same. But, perhaps it can be better in a fashion. The work gives me purpose and I am eager to witness the upcoming elections.'_ Will I ever learn to live without you? Will this work make me whole again?

_'My new position at the Ministry is demanding but fulfilling. Please accept my apologies for my increasingly infrequent replies. Perhaps it is best we end our correspondences for now.'_ I must learn to live without you. The pain is too great and I am too weak. Julian, Julian, I am so weak.

_The dream is closing in around him and he cannot breathe._

Julian…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This dream sequence remains one of my favorite things ever. Do people still read DS9 fics?


	3. Chapter 3

Waking sluggishly, his chest heaving achily and his throat aflame, Garak became aware of the buzz of low voices, of the shrill sounds of a tricorder at work.

"Doctor," a woman's voice, Anira's, but he was unable to follow the conversation completely, so strangling was the panic, so painfully was his head pounding, "-- only so much _vesala_ I have to expend -- when will he be well?"

A warm hand, strong and smooth, covered Garak's clammy forehead and the tricorder fell silent.

"-- days, I'm almost certain," a familiar lilt of a voice replied as the hand retreated, a sort of superior certainty bubbling just below its surface. "-- trust me … contact you with an update tomorrow."

There was a soft clamor of footsteps retreating from his bedroom, followed shortly afterward by the clatter of a chair being settled beside his bed. Still, Garak found he lacked the will or even the requisite strength to open his eyes. The gentle warmth of the hand returned to his forehead, soft skin prickling against his chufa before drawing several fingers across his cheek and Garak's heart ached desperately.

"Oh, Garak," gentle breath tickled his ear ridge, "What have you done to yourself now?"

Garak begged silently for release, the gentle weight of the hand on his chest, the tutting over his rattling breath, threatening to undo him. The voice was Julian Bashir's and Garak was in agony. After all, he was most certainly, excruciatingly, still dreaming. 

\--

A sharp, brief pain in his neck woke Garak at last, or so he thought, until he opened one aching eyelid to find that the dreamworld had still not released him.  
  
Had he slipped into a coma?

"I'm sorry to wake you," Julian intoned quietly, "You're dreadfully dehydrated and you need some nutrients. Rather a nasty virus, this one; I saw it passed around Deep Space Nine at certain times of year. I suppose you brought it home with you in its dormant state. Just try to relax and let the antivirals--"

 _Perhaps it's alright to dream a bit longer,_ Garak thought weakly. His brow ridges furrowed in a wince as a second hypospray was administered, very near to the first injection site. This kind of physical pain, even so minor, was not usual for his dreams.

"--do their work." Julian rubbed the spot gently with his thumb, murmuring apologetically.

 _Am I dying?_ Garak wondered, feeling stupid and sentimental and sick. _This can't be a dream. And, yet, he cannot be here. Would not be here. You're being a fool, Elim. You're feverish and delusional. Open your eyes. Put an end to this._

Yet, to Garak's silent bewilderment, when he did open his eyes Julian remained, looking by all accounts very real and somewhat troubled. Garak blinked, uncharacteristically robbed of words, his mouth opened very slightly.

Julian's skin was just a little darker than the last time Garak had seen him, his face was stubbled with the beginnings of a dark beard and his hair a bit wild. He was dressed simply and lightly, apropos of the Cardassian heat, in a light cream-colored tunic without sleeves and slim earth-toned pants.

The doctor had dropped the spent hypospray cartridges to the bedside table with a clatter upon realizing that Garak had opened his eyes. He leaned forward rather a bit too quickly, a PADD and his Starfleet-issue tricorder clattering unceremoniously to the floor. He wavered in a half-standing position, peering into Garak's eyes as he reached somewhat awkwardly for his fallen tricorder.

"Doctor," Garak said thickly, cocking his elbows to raise himself into a sitting position.

Long-fingered hands were quick to press down upon his aching chest, firm but gentle and trembling just slightly, Garak noted with mild surprise.  
"None of that now, Garak," Julian whispered firmly.

"Doctor Bashir--" his voice grated and a spell of desperate coughing ensued, forcing him up against Julian's hands and threatening to bend him double. When the fit had abated, there was blood on Garak's hands and lower lip and Julian was sitting beside him on the mattress, one arm around Garak's shoulders, easing him gently back toward the pillows.  
  
Wringing out a cloth from a bowl on the bedside table, Julian blotted the blood from Garak's mouth and palms, conspicuously quiet as he did so.

Garak twisted away toward the moons-lit window, unable to look at Julian, embittered at his vulnerable state, imagining he might go blind from the brightness of the doctor's sudden reappearance in his life - the man radiant like a humanoid star beside him. But even his own stubborn sense of self-preservation was not enough to prevent him from noting with a longing pang the way the doctor's fingers lingered across his palm, gentle and tremulous and unsure.

Julian cleared his throat, letting Garak's hands fall as he replaced the quilts across his patient's chest.

With a swiftness that belied his sorry state, Garak took hold of one of the doctor's hands as it made to retreat. "What are you doing here?" he hissed, voice rasping harshly, closing his eyes in a continued effort to avoid Julian's gaze.

Julian was quiet, and though Garak's eyes were obdurately screwed shut, the Cardassian could vividly imagine the doctor chewing his lower lip, looking anxious and beautiful.

"Your assistant called for a doctor," Julian answered flatly, simply, prizing his hand from Garak's after several seconds. He cleared his throat once more, sliding from the edge of the bed to collect his PADD from the floor and dimming the lamp on the bedside table when he had returned to his chair, "It's very late. Or, very early, rather. You should go back to sleep. I expect you'll feel substantially less weak in the morning... Perhaps we can talk then."

Garak turned at last to look in fullness at Julian Bashir, emboldened by the semi-darkness. The weak light cast shadows beneath the doctor's cheekbones and in the soft lines around his eyes and his pursed lips.

Julian looked a bit older, careworn, though as handsome as - if not more than - Garak remembered him, still lean and strong and a little bit proud. He also looked incredibly tired and, to Garak's consternation, terribly sad in a fashion. What right had the doctor to look so gloomy?

 _Surely Ezri would not weather him looking so forlorn._ With a huffing sound that hurt his throat bitterly, he turned his back to Julian and flouted the doctor's instruction, remaining awake for a long while, in fear of more dreams, and seething.

However, when sun began to peek through the curtains, the familiar soft sounds of Julian's slight snoring in the chair beside him softened the tension in Garak's shoulders and eventually soothed him to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Another injection and the soft rubbing of Julian's fingers against the site and Garak was awake, mindful that he had not slept long. If the doctor were aware of this, though, he did not show it, all skilled, gentle attention as he worked, the tricorder humming and beeping as he checked over Garak.

In spite of himself, Garak marveled with affection at the ease with which Julian moved during any medical procedure. All traces of the nervous need for approval so characteristic of his social and romantic endeavors was completely gone. So very at ease in his work.

He turned an exacting gaze on the doctor, inquiring hoarsely, "And, how is Ezri?"

Julian's wrist flicked in surprise as he worked and he chewed his lip, one brow quirking in silent discomfort. He did not answer immediately, returning his tricorder to the bedside table and taking up his PADD, jabbing somewhat distractedly at the screen.

Garak sighed, pushing himself up to his elbows with a grunt of effort.

And there was Julian, gripping his arm to help him sit against the headboard, his eyes narrowed and looking past Garak as he replied. "You would know as much of Ezri these days as I do. I know you two exchanged letters, that she was very fond of you. She and I--" His hand drifted from Garak's arm to rake awkwardly through his dark hair, "We're no longer together. Haven't been for months now."

Garak raised a brow ridge, and his gaze skimmed upward to study Julian's face, but as he did so the doctor straightened up and crossed the room toward the drawn curtains.  
  
"Ezri and I have not spoken in a regrettably long while," Garak hissed weakly, "The Ministry has been keeping me rather busy."

"As you know I'm well aware," Julian replied with just a touch of irritation. He stretched as he walked, sinewed arms bending alternately above his head.

Were it not for the fever of which Julian was also well aware, Garak might have worried at the gray flush that was prickling in his cheeks, more than dampening the virus' lingering chill for a moment.

With a deft movement of each bare forearm, Julian threw open the drapes and Cardassian summer sunlight spilled across the floor and onto the lower portion of Garak's layered quilts.

Remaining by the curtain, his fingers plying at the sturdy fabric, Julian's gaze looked far away. "We grew apart, Ezri and I," he said at last, without resentment or bitterness and, indeed, with obvious lingering fondness, "Perhaps she sensed that my heart was never entirely hers; perhaps, I finally realized that though Jadzia was a part of her, she would never be Jadzia again, and even if she could --" He sighed heavily, his grip on the drapes suddenly stiff and severe, "I realized--"

 _Absent a 'perhaps,' Doctor?_ Garak wondered, feeling undeservedly superior rather suddenly.

"I realized that would still not be enough. That my love for them was a pale substitute for…"

The sentence hung unfinished in the dry air, even as Garak's stare sought to penetrate the back of the doctor's head, to draw out the end of the thought. There in the bright sunlight, Garak beheld the slight sheen of sweat at the nape of Julian's neck and swallowed hard, hissing in irritation at the white-hot answering pain in his throat.

Julian turned quickly, as if torn from a trance and sat once more atop the bedding. "I imagine your throat is still bothering you terribly. The antivirals I've given you will take time to affect much obvious relief. Would you like some tea?"

Garak closed his eyes, tilting his head back against the bed end and feeling entirely unprepared to deal with his growing curiosity about Julian's presence on Cardassia and, more pointedly, in his bedroom.

"I'm not certain I can tolerate much in the way of drinking anything, Doctor. Though I suppose I am amenable to trying." He opened one eye as Julian stood, exceedingly grateful for the glimmer of a smile that flitted across Julian's tired features as he strode toward the kitchen.

Julian returned only a short time later with two steaming cups of replicated tea. Though he was hesitant to try swallowing any of the hot beverage, Garak was all at once delighted to hold the warm cup between his chilled hands and disappointed at the awful discomfort when he attempted even a small drink.

Julian, for his part, took a few sips of his own tea and was silent, his gaze in his lap, as if contemplating the mug or his hands.

"You needn't have left your post on my behalf, Doctor," Garak rasped, aloof, hoping that Julian felt the sting of the absent 'my dear' that had once been such a common prefix between them, revenge in part for making such a sudden comeback into Garak's life. "I'm shocked Anira would have troubled you. There's many a Cardassian doctor on-planet and available to the Liaisons Minister." He hazarded a harsh laugh, stifling a cough, "You must be in want of patients to come rushing to my aid over a simple virus."

Julian chuckled dryly, leaning back in his chair, "Not at all in want of patients, _Minister_ Garak, and not such a simple virus it would seem, seeing as it has laid you so low."

The harsh emphasis on the honorific made Garak bristle, disappointedly headed off at his own bitter little game.

"And the post I've taken brief leave from is not exactly a Starfleet one, though I am certain I am more sorely missed from my current position than I would ever have been for a few days on Deep Space Nine." He sipped stiffly from his tea, both bristling at Garak's needling and rising up in obvious pride in his rejoinder, "After all, I am head physician at the Displaced Citizens' Clinic."

Much of Garak's diminished energy was being mustered to stop his mouth falling open as he listened, a flurry of emotions ranging from irritation to intrigue buzzing between his ears.

"I would have thought the Minister of Liaisons would have much more exact knowledge of such a place. After all," Julian sipped his drink again, turning his gaze level to look at Garak, some venom in his tone, "It was one of your more successful relations projects with Starfleet. And it lies just outside Cardassia City. A charitable organization doing such good work for the efforts of Cardassia's burgeoning democracy seems as if it would be worthy of your attention." Then quietly, as an afterthought, "I've been there three months already. Cardassian months."

Garak's ridges furrowed in thought, countered hoarsely, but evenly, "I'm more than aware of the Clinic's work. Though I admit I had no idea you were employed there. You could have simply written to me--"

"It seemed inappropriate to bother Minister Garak with such a trifling piece of news," Julian replied, the vitriol in his tone making his voice clipped and harsh. "And let's not forget that it was you who chose to end things, whatever they --" a slow intake of breath, "that is to say… you decided our correspondence was incompatible with your busy schedule. You seemed more than contentedly occupied with your work."

Garak felt fury and heartache burning in his chest, but was silent; how very little the doctor seemed to understand still, even after so many years.

"I had grown quite certain I would never hear from you again, until your assistant deigned to contact me for you two days ago," the doctor's voice faltered, though his shoulders were still austerely squared.

"I never asked her to contact you specifically, Doctor Bashir," Garak said bitterly, paying the price in a bout of nasty ragged coughing. Putting his hand to his mouth, he raised himself further upright, his eyes glinting and fiercely blue as he began to piece together more of the fascinating bits of the last several days' puzzle. "Likely, she realized that a doctor from the Citizens' Clinic, an ex-Starfleet alien, no less, would be one of the few options I might tolerate for professional medical care.

"In light of my career, any physician that would stand a chance of treating any of my constituents, much less my potential rivals or remaining detractors and possibly divulging my moment of weakness would be out of the question. Not to mention the low or more likely, nonexistent, cost in _vesala._ "

Julian sighed and deflated, a slight flush rising in his cheeks as he set his mug on the bedside table with a clatter, "I see. Or rather, I should have known." He reached for his medical kit, avoiding Garak's eyes as he withdrew another hypospray and pressed it to the Cardassian's neck, deploying it with a hydraulic hiss.

Garak noted with a flinch that this injection remained absent the reassuring attentions of the doctor's gentle fingers.

"I suggest you continue to rest, Minister," Julian said coolly, looking forlorn and thoughtful once more.

 _Minister, again. How very distant, Doctor Bashir._ "Thank you, Doctor. I will. I am certain you are eager to return to your work at the Clinic, as I am eager to return to the Ministry."

Julian stood with a heavy sigh, his shoulders dropping as he walked to the bedroom door, a tanned hand lingering on the wall, his angular build a breathtaking juxtaposition to the curve of the doorframe. "If you need anything, I'll be in the kitchen."

Garak waved a hand, turning to lie on his side and sighing heavily, his expression taking on an anguished affect once safely out of the Doctor's view. He would rather the virus hurry and kill him than have to face the feelings that were jockeying within him.

It had been all he could do to refrain from even hoping that Julian would ever come to Cardassia. Yet, now that he was presented with that very dream-turned-reality, he found that the agony of suffering the doctor's loss from his life a second time was too much to consider, especially with the chill of the fever and the frailty it brought still heavy upon him.

_You are a coward, Elim Garak. But, this too, will pass._


	5. Chapter 5

In the darkest hours of the night, Garak woke and writhed uncomfortably beneath his blankets. Cold, bitterly cold, no matter what huddled position he took, no matter how tightly he curled himself beneath the quilts.

His head was pounding again, a plasma storm of pain behind his eyes that shortened his breath. Still, he was determined not to call Julian into his room, to not have to suffer the look of tender concern in those hazel eyes - to never be so feeble, so exposed in Julian Bashir's presence ever again.

Blessedly, his own stubbornness did not prove his undoing, as the doctor entered almost on a cue.

Julian's stride was quick but purposeful, all business, his tricorder at the ready as he crossed briskly from the doorway to the bed. He spoke softly to himself as he worked, not quite looking at Garak.

"That damned fever's spiked again," he murmured by way of explanation and bent gracefully to take up his case from the bedside table. Spreading it open on the mattress, he chose a cartridge and held it briefly beneath the light of the lamp. Assured that he had selected correctly, he deployed the hypospray with familiar ease, keen attention darting between his tricorder and his work.

Garak did not have the wherewithal to even blink, to flinch or to screw up his expression when his raw nerves flared, and the gentle pressure of Julian's fingers was welcome after the stinging injection.

The doctor brushed a hand against Garak's cheek, warm and reassuring. Before he could think better of it, Garak leaned into the familiar palm, his obstinate resolve fraying to nothing with each hour that Julian was near.

Julian half-smiled, looking wounded and wistful, his eyes toward the doorway.

"My dear Doctor," Garak rasped and looked up, searching for Julian's eyes, as arresting and bright as they had ever been, though fatigued and now wide with mild surprise.

Julian bent close, brows furrowed with concern, "Yes, Garak?"

Garak's words caught in his throat for a moment, bewitched at the gentle, whispered tone of the question. "Would you … sit with me… just for a while?"

The doctor seemed thoughtful, guarded, withdrawing his hand from Garak's cheek and combing it back through his sleep-mussed hair.

Garak felt the familiar ache pulse in his heart, even as he coughed and shuddered pitifully. Julian did look very tired and though he hated to admit it anew, Garak had been rather cruel - cruel probably beyond the reach of Julian's sympathy.

It was sobering to consider that, though they had each made the other a far better man in their many years together, the depth of that change had also given both Garak and Julian the tools to indelibly wound the other with even a few careless words.

Garak had been heedless with Julian indeed - ended things poorly, resisted explanation, closure. After all, closure meant finality, true loss. The unhealing, timeless wound far preferable to an itching scar. He had retreated to Cardassia, too afraid even to ask Julian to forgive him, much less come home with him.

Julian had run to Ezri for comfort, complicating a complicated matter, even to mention nothing of battered Cardassia and Julian's obligation to Starfleet after the Dominion War. The past and the future at odds as always.

Garak and Julian hurt and changed and terrified, and neither willing to admit it to the other, nor at times even to themselves.

The warm pressure of Julian sitting beside him roused Garak from introspection.

The doctor had settled stiffly atop the blankets, leaning back against the headboard, but looking far from relaxed, and though it was Garak's fondest desire to offer the poor man some sort of reassurance, he could only manage to pillow his clammy, fevered cheek against the doctor's strong shoulder, thoroughly exhausted. "Thank you, Julian."

When Garak spoke, Julian seemed to uncoil, his shoulders relaxing as he replied softly into Garak's hair, "Of course."

\--

Garak woke late the next morning, feeling remarkably better than he had in several days and grateful for a dreamless rest. He felt he could have veritably sprung up to begin the day were Julian not snoring softly on his shoulder, huddled against Garak's side in peaceful slumber. Doing his best not to rouse the doctor, Garak craned his neck to study the sleeping form beside him.

Julian's contented expression in sleep was so familiar to Garak, having many times enjoyed an early morning aboard Deep Space Nine, their bodies tangled together as Garak watched Julian wake, the doctor's lips slightly and alluring parted, inviting an affectionate, nipping kiss.

Garak mused that the disbelief he felt as he considered recent events was sweetly similar to the incredulous bliss he had experienced the first morning after he and Julian had found themselves in Garak's quarters - veritable strangers, but so powerfully drawn to one another.

It was a sensation all at once terrifying and exhilarating and precious; something that caused him such pain to remember but that he could never bring himself to leave behind.

Dark lashes fluttered against Garak's cheek and Julian stirred, sleepily at first, but then clumsily and quickly as he seemed to recall where he was. Scooting hastily to the edge of the bed, he bit his lip, stammered groggily, "G-good morning, Garak. How are you feeling?"

"Much better, my dear Doctor. Clear-headed, even," Garak replied, heartened at the sound of his voice beginning to return to its normal timbre. "I may just venture beyond my bedroom today."

Julian smiled, looking relieved, "I'm glad to hear it. It is my expert opinion that you ought not to push yourself. I will permit some light answering of messages, though. It seems as if Anira could manage well enough, but I'm sure she'll be eager to hear from you."

"Gods know I'd be lost without her assistance," Garak said with a smirk, not ignorant of the trace of jealousy in Julian's expression. "Especially in looking after my health," he stared pointedly at Julian, "It's been a long time since I've had proper medical attention. I'd say about a year and a half." He was pleased to note the Doctor's slight flush, the uncertainty that tugged at his mouth. _Still such a delightful open book at times, Julian._

Picking up sundry medical supplies from the chair and table beside the bed, Julian rose and hastily packed away his equipment, flustered. "I'm happy I could be of help." He handed Garak his PADD with something between a smile and a grimace, "I'm certain Cardassia will reap the benefits of my discretion in your care."

Garak quirked a brow ridge, stymied by the doctor's distant manners, "My dear Julian, is something wrong?"

The younger man regarded him steadily, looking by all accounts as if Garak had just punched him rather than employed an affectionate title, "No. Nothing at all, Minister Garak." A pregnant pause, and then, "In fact, I have good news. I expect by tomorrow you'll be able to manage your recovery without me."

Garak regarded the distracted doctor with veiled affection, sorely tempted to overwhelm Julian with the full force of his frustration at him, of his deep feelings for him. The sweat-damp hair tousled with content sleep, the flush in the doctor's cheeks were a drug in their own right. However, his pride would not allow it and he settled upright against his pillows and browsed his queued messages as Julian busied himself straightening up the bedroom and checking his own correspondences.

Watching Julian from the corner of his eye, Garak's messages hardly received the attention they required. With a sudden inhale so sharp that it startled the doctor, Garak ceded his battle with distraction and dropped his PADD to his lap, folding his hands across it, "Julian."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, I give you the two dumbest smart people in all of the many galaxies.


	6. Chapter 6

Julian turned briskly on his heel, intrigued. "Garak?"

"Regarding how things ended between us…" Garak cleared his throat uncomfortably, feeling abruptly out of his depth. Pretty words and clever analysis were so simple when one thoroughly understood the subject. But, faced with the prospect of describing the regrets of almost two years, he felt entirely lost.

Julian folded his arms across his chest, "Yes?"

"It was… My approach was not--" His throat was tight and his voice failed him briefly as he coughed. Steepling his fingers when he had recovered, Garak did his best to continue, "I have always regretted my methods that night. I shouldn't have--"

"Your methods," Julian repeated, seemed to be turning the words over in his mind, his expression tight. "Not the end." He gestured stiffly, beckoning Garak to continue.

"That is not what I meant," Garak countered evenly, bristling at the implication. "And I believe you know that. Surely you - the man I permitted closer to me than anyone else..." He trailed off, growing irritated and resolving to order his words more carefully.

The hard line of Julian's mouth softened and Garak pressed on once more, "That night… everything seemed so uncertain. You must have known. I had hoped you might understand…" _What justification is there, Julian? I have no excuse._ "At the time it seemed better to end our affair--" he regretted the word choice almost instantly.

"Our _affair_?" Julian's voice pitched wildly in sudden outrage.

"A poor choice of words, my dear--"

"Was that what it was to you?"

"Julian, please--"

"Was it?"

"It was a secret, it was heady and complicated…" Garak's tone was sharp, goading. But there was affection behind the words, too, veiled tenderness.

"Complicated? " Julian had dropped forcefully into the chair beside Garak's bed, so as to be level with his opponent. "There were times I could have killed you as easily as kissed you, Garak!" He drew a series of shallow breaths, eyes flashing, "By far, the most dysfunctional and frustrating relationship of my life, which I'm sure you know says something."

Garak stiffened, old insecurities rankling unpleasantly.

There was a tense near-silence as the doctor steadied his breathing, exhaled slowly through his nose, "And, yet, the most meaningful connection I've ever shared with anyone."

"Your sentimentality is showing, Doctor," Garak muttered petulantly.

"And your arrogance is never hidden, _Minister!_ " Julian spat back.

"My arrogance. And what of you? You had no qualms parading about with Ezri mere days after our parting." Julian flinched as if struck. Garak knew he had found an advantage and hurried to grasp it. "Nor any of your little flings over the years for that matter. And now? Deigning to reappear so suddenly, when my defenses are down. Without consideration for how it might affect me… not to mention my political position, the home I've tried to rebuild here? What gives you the right to insert yourself so suddenly back into my life?"

Garak steadied himself for the rebuttal, the exacting rejoinder as always; but, it did not come.

Instead, Julian was quiet for a long while.

"Oh, Garak." The fire was gone from the doctor's voice and it was quiet, plaintive, "I… I'm sorry." He laughed softly, a bitter, hollow-sounding mirth, "It seems without you to sharpen me, I've lost my edge… I can't do this." He combed both hands slowly through his dark hair, looking suddenly older, " It hurts too much. For the last year and half… after the war, ever since you returned to Cardassia, I've been laid bare in so many ways.

"Everything about my life has changed. My friends, my family, my colleagues… are scattered everywhere and I've had only my own lense through which to view myself. No validations, no reassurance."

Garak was quiet, made speechless as he beheld the transformed Julian Bashir beside him, so much the same and yet more of the man Garak had fallen in love with years ago.

"I've been forced to examine every part of myself, to dissect the past… to acknowledge my part in so many struggles, so many failures, the ends of so many relationships, the bright spot of which was you and I… To try to understand my part in your not returning to Deep Space Nine and in the end--" the doctor drew a bracing breath, balling his fists in his lap, "In the end of our letters."

Garak yearned to take one lovely brown hand in both of his, but was still and peered into the dark, earnest eyes.

Julian sighed, "I've begun to rebuild myself here. At first, I thought I was punishing myself. The heat, the language, the foreignness of everything Cardassian - it felt like repentance in a way. But, I am doing good here. And I realized it wasn't penance… not really. The reason I came here was that I was desperate to be close to you. It sounds so silly, so lovesick. But, I had to connect with you again, even indirectly, rebuilding what you loved so dearly. By helping to heal Cardassia's people. But, I must know, Elim. I need to know," the doctor's eyes shone, but his voice was steady, "Am I being naive? A sentimental fool? Or is there hope for us?"

"Oh, my dear," Garak took the doctor's hand and pressed his palm against Julian's, interlacing their fingers. He admired the stark contrast of his own pale complexion against the doctor's tan one and said softly, "How I have missed you."

A smile threatened to disrupt Julian's steady gaze. "Garak."

Garak's head dipped in acknowledgement. _Of course, my dear, no misdirection_. "I want desperately to reassure you, Julian. But, I have so little to offer. True, I am a politician now, but I have no impressive power or status with which to shield us from hardship--"

"I've managed well enough without you thus far."

"And despite Cardassia's progress," Garak continued, his grip on Julian's fingers tightened, "I still have detractors. A life with me would never be free of ridicule. Nor of unwanted attention - humans are not at a premium among my people and attitudes are slow to--"

"I don't care, Garak," Julian countered, his voice straining with worn patience.

"I have little free time, humble assets, I am--"

"Garak! I'm aware of all these things. Am I to assume you are avoiding the question? I'm certain you understand it."

Garak blinked slowly, raised a single brow ridge, "My dear Julian, I--"

Julian stood suddenly, snatching his hand away to gesture in exasperation, interrupting, "Do you love me?"

Garak was thoroughly chastened, and he ached with the knowledge that he had never spoken his feelings aloud - had only allowed them to be implied, passed wordlessly between himself and Julian in the dark, woven into the pretty lines of their conversations. "Julian… you must know I do." So many days and nights together, how had he not said it sooner? "That I have for many years."

"Then, answer me: is there hope for us - here on Cardassia?"

And though fear and pride and self-preservation reared up within him to smother his answer, Elim Garak smiled as he gazed without guile at Julian Bashir, "Yes, my dear. There is."

"No lies, Garak. No half-truths."

Garak smirked and gave an exaggerated cough, "I'm in no fit state for lies, my dear. And by now, I think I've more than grown tired of--"

The chair clattered roughly and abruptly to the floor as Julian sprang forward, throwing his arms about Garak's neck. And, oh, the agony of the doctor's full weight across his aching chest, but Garak's arms wrapped tightly around him in return.

"Oh, Garak," Julian whispered urgently into the crook of Garak's shoulder. "I'm so sorry-- I- I could have told you I'd come. God knows I could have visited you, written you, but I--"

"My dear Doctor," Garak interjected hoarsely, feeling tender and breathless at Julian pressed close to him, the doctor's stubble tickling his neck, "I don't deserve you. I am the one who should be sorry." He drew a shuddering breath, tangling his fingers in Julian's hair, "I was such a coward. That night, all those years together and instead of telling you how deeply I cared for you. How much I love you--"

The oft-thought of and long overdue apology was cut off as Julian kissed him deeply and a shudder, not from the fever or of chill, but of bliss, danced the length of Garrick's spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! My first experience with Ao3 has been so much fun. I promise to keep enjoying it... and perhaps post the NSFW bonus chapter one day soon. ;)


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